


One Last Mystery

by WDW



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Cipher Hunt, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:24:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7556434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WDW/pseuds/WDW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, and all over the world, people are hearing fragments of a mysterious message on their phones.  </p><p>The Pines family joins the Cipher Hunt.</p><p>((Written in response to the massive GF revival that has appeared with the ongoing Cipher Hunt))</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in response to the ongoing Cipher Hunt, in which Gravity Falls fans from around the world are teaming up to find the real (!!) Bill Cipher statue from the credits of the finale. 
> 
> For context:  
> http://fuckyeahgravityfalls.com/post/147737686785  
> http://fuckyeahgravityfalls.com/post/147781913840

_"Hello, it's Grunkle Stan, and I have a riddle for you…"_

They don't find out for nearly two weeks. The ocean is vast and mobile service is occasional at best, and while Fiddleford had whipped up some long-distance transmitters he had practically duct taped to their hands, those didn't survive the run-in with the man-eating mermaids. Or were those the giant time-trapped centipedes from the Carboniferous period? ( _Eh, we lived._ )

It also didn't help that cosmic adventurer and history's finest con man aside, they were two old men at heart, with all the technological ineptness that the fact suggested.

(Earth _technology, Stanley. Really, it's more that these… mobile devices are decades and centuries_ behind _what I'm used to than any true lack of understanding of my part -_

I'm _the one who had to pay for the replacements, Sixer. All four of them that you reduced to fine glass and silicon_ powder _. And - y'know, I'm not even_ mad _, I just wanna know how you_ did it _.)_

The first time Stan and Ford went into a main port for the first time in six days, they chalked it all up to coincidence.

The odd looks, mostly at Stan, always after he had said something, weren't all out of the normal considering that most things he said were loud or strange or casually offensive. The recognition, well. Stan still didn't remember most of his life, and to be frank, he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. And he had traveled the world, yeah? Probably ran into a guy or two - dozen? Hundred? Hell if he knew.

In the end, it all comes to a head in Ensenada about a week afterwards, when Stan orders half a dozen fish tacos in impeccably accented Spanish, and the vendor furrows his brows and asks, "Grunkle Stan _?"_

"Um," Stan says. Behind him, Ford reaches for a blaster.

"¿ _El hombre del telefono, si?_ ¿ _Con los acertijos?"_

Stan stiffens - less uncomfortable than he is purely confused, and that's the only reason Ford doesn't step in to intervene. _"Tienes el hombre equivocado, amigo,"_ he mutters, and thrusts out a wad of bills without counting them beforehand. The vendor hesitates, as if to push further, but the look on Stan's face quickly convinces him otherwise.

The two of them walk away in careful silence, broken only by the occasional crunch and chew of fried batter. But Ford had picked up enough of the language over the past months to understand a bare minimum of the odd conversation that had transpired, and curiosity - as it always has - drove him to broach the subject.

"Did you... know him, Stanley?"

His brother takes his time to chew. It's a full minute before he finally says, clearly reluctant, "Nah. Maybe. I dunno. And y'know, when a guy calls me Grunkle Stan, I figure I should at least recognize his face. But there's - nothing."

"He… mentioned a telephone? And your, ah, _acertijos_ , I haven't heard the term before -"

"Riddles," Stan says with a sigh. "Which makes no damn _sense_ , seein' how I'm complete shit at those things. Once it gets to the ol' two legs, four legs bullshit, I'm stumped. Jokes for nerds, that's what they are - uh, no offense ta present company."

"You're rambling, Stanley."

His brother hesitated. "I guess I am, huh?"

They're quiet for several long minutes. Ford polishes off the last of his tacos and tosses the stained napkins.

"I told him he had the wrong guy," Stan says suddenly, not looking at him. "But what other Grunkle Stan is out there, huh? And what the hell do _I_ know? I can't even remember a whole three-fourths of my own damn life."

"Stan -"

"...I'm tired of strangers lookin' at me like I'm supposed ta know who they are," his brother mutters. "And I haven't been on the phone. Not today, not yesterday, not since the kids' parents called asking questions back in August. We've been at sea for almost a month, I _couldn't_ have, yeah? It's not just - me not remembering, it's for _sure_ -"

"A case of mistaken identity," Ford cuts in, voice hard. "Look, Stanley. I've been with you nearly everywhere you've went. And while close quarter living sometimes gets… frustrating -"

" _You_ were the one who plopped the sea monster on my bunk, Sixer. I couldn't get the slime out for days -"

"- it does mean that I would certainly have noticed if you made any phone calls," he finishes smoothly, ignoring Stan's snide comment. "What happened today… it's an isolated incident. There's no greater meaning to it. Don't let it get to you. _Please._ "

His brother doesn't reply for a long while. Then halfway back to the Stan o' War, he says, apropos of nothing, "We should call the kids."

"Stan?"

"They must be gettin' worried at this point," Stan says flatly. "We haven't talked to 'em in a while, yeah? And that hillbilly of yours, he told us to check in every time we got into port ...Hell, I'm surprised he hasn't sent a giant robot or two to track us down."

That isn't what he meant, but Ford lets it go. He nods. "Let's find a phone card."

* * *

 

They call from a bench in the local park. Ford dials, starts the call, and listen to a phone in Piedmont ring.

_"...and uh, it's red and white and, I dunno, I'm not good at these riddles. It's at Ochre Court, all right?"_

The voice is distant, somewhat cut by static, but the gruffness is undeniably familiar. "Stan, please stop talking," he says, distracted. "I can't hear the phone."

"I didn't say anything, Sixer." Stan stares at him, clearly confused. "You hearin' things?"

"What? No! ...I mean _yes_ , but I thought I just heard you on the -"

" _It's, uh, it's like, it's a big old building in Rhode Island, and if ya go up the stairs, there's a -"_

Stanley's lips aren't moving, he's not the one talking, but it's clearly his voice coming from the phone Ford was pressing just a bit too hard to his ear. He blanches despite himself. His brother looks at him in bemused worry and he opens his mouth to explain -

The call connects. "Hello, this is the Pines residence. Who is this?"

Ford raises a hand to stall any forthcoming questions, because all that could wait. "Hello, Isaac? This is your uncle, Stanford Pines," he says clearly. "Can I please talk to Dipper and Mabel?"

Isaac Pines is understanding enough, and he doesn't ask hard questions before calling the kids down and handing them the phone. Ford clicks on the speaker button so both of them could hear, just in time for Mabel's eardrum-shattering yell of, "GRUNKLE STAN! GRUNKLE FORD!" to escape the phone.

"Tone it down a bit, kid. Just a little. We're in public, alright?" Stan hisses, his effect of his words somewhat weakened by the clear fondness in his voice. "What are you two munchkins up to?"

"You two can't get away with it that easily!" Mabel says crossly, and Ford can imagine her with her sweater-clad arms crossed in indignation. "You two didn't call for two weeks! After he found out those transmitters broke, Grunkle Fiddleford even said he was gonna pull some strings with the shadow government -"

"Like I said, sweetie. We're in public."

"Mabel's right," Dipper adds. "We were _worried_ , and calls wouldn't go through, and we didn't hear anything from the two of you at _all_."

"We're sorry, kids," Ford says, more than a little guilty. It was easy to lose track of time and life in general when every other day involved strange monsters or mythical creatures he had only ever _dreamed_ of seeing with his own eyes. But there were things far more important than his research or discoveries. "There is no excuse for our, ah, radio silence. But as soon as I can, I'll find some alternative form of communication, and -"

"Ooh, Grunkle Ford, why don't you make a Snapchat? Then Dipper and I can check your Story and figure out what you two are up to. Or you can FaceTime us. Or Skype!"

"I know exactly none of those words," Stan mutters under his breath, and for once, Ford was inclined to agree. "We'll find something," he says instead. Something that took advantage of the shadow government's extensive satellites would be useful…

"By the way," Dipper adds, "Grunkle Fiddleford said he wants to know how Grunkle Stan got the message on everyone's phone lines. Something about the international reach and lingual comprehensiveness. Um, and to get rid of it as soon as you can. There's a governmental agency or two that are getting interested, in the bad way. Something about subliminal messaging?"

Stan opens his mouth, and shuts it again. "What?" He asks thickly. "Kid, I don't know what you're talkin' about. What message on the phone lines?"

"The one with the riddle!" Mabel interjects. Stan flinches like he's been hit, and Ford knows without a doubt that he's thinking about the vendor in Ensenada and the dozens of people before who had stopped and stared at the sound of his voice.

"...I thought you just made a _really_ big mess-up with technology, I didn't know that you - Grunkle Stan, you _really_ don't know?" Dipper asks tentatively.

"No," Stan says flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Explain it to me, kid."

"There's - Uh, it started a a little more than a week ago. But suddenly when people made phone calls, in that dead space of time before the other person picked up, they started hearing this message you left. Just, little fragments, a sentence or two. But what's weird about it is that it's going on all over the world. And people hear it in all kinds of languages."

"Like Candy!" Mabel chimed in. "She wanted me to tell you that your Korean was very good. And Grenda's boyfriend wanted you to know that you're not _that_ bad at telling riddles. You kind of are, though. Sorry Grunkle Stan."

"Sweetie, I _don't_ speak Korean," Stan says blankly. "Some Japanese, a bit of Chinese, but - what do I _say_ in that message? Riddles, I know that, but I don't remember ever making a message like that. You two got a - recording, or something? Maybe it's just some guy who sounds like me -"

"Ochre Court," Ford interrupts, and his brother goes quiet, looking at him in stunned confusion. "The message tells people to go to a building in Rhode Island. Right, Dipper?"

The line goes silent. "Ochre Court," his nephew repeats, and then again with more excitement. "Grunkle Ford, do you remember the whole line?"

"I don't remember _exactly_ ," he replies. "...Something about red and white, and then Sta - the message says it - ah, _something_ 's at Ochre Court, a big old building in Rhode Island, and going up the stairs -"

"Stairs!" Dipper exclaims. Stan and Ford hear the sound of furious scribbling. "This must go in front of all the stuff about nuns and - Sorry Great-Uncle Ford, Grunkle Stan, I've just been doing a lot of research about this because all the conspiracy sites are blowing up from it, and people from all over the world are sending in the pieces they hear from their phones. We're trying to piece together the whole message, but everyone's been stumped for days because we were missing the most important part -"

Quietly, Stan turns to him and says, "Sixer, you knew about this?"

"I just heard it a few minutes ago," Ford says, just as quietly. "I swear, Stanley. I only just found out."

His brother lets out a deep sigh. "I believe ya, Ford. But then… it's true? Some guy that sounds like me leaving weird messages on the phone lines?"

"He did sound like you," he admits. "Not just your voice, but - the way you talk, the inflections… it's dead on."

"I didn't leave that message, Sixer. I don't remember saying anything about Rhode Island or - riddles or stuff like that. Ever." Stan sounds almost pleading.

"I don't think you did," Ford says. In fact, he's almost certain, and not just because the thought of Stan leaving cryptic messages and ciphers on the phone lines with no memory of it sends a cold chill of _it sounds like_ and _what if_ down his back. "Honestly, Stan? You didn't have the opportunity or the ability to do this."

His brother looks relieved at that, in some unspoken, indescribable way. "...Guess the big question now is, who _is_ the -"

"Great-Uncle Ford," Dipper says excitedly from over the phone, "I think I have the whole message transcribed. I'll text it to your phone -" Stan cleans out his ear. "- so when you and Grunkle Stan go to Rhode Island, you know exactly where to look to find whatever this clue is leading to! Mabel and I can go on the computer and help you out -"

"Hang on, kid. When were we headin' to Rhode Island?"

"Dipper has a point, Stan," Ford interrupts. "We need to get to the bottom of this, and I can think of no better way than to play along with this game for the time being."

"We can't just - ignore it? C'mon, Sixer, what if it's nothing?"

"Then - it's nothing. We'll drop it." He hesitates. "But Stanley, there is something strange going on here, and I have an inkling that there is much more going on than we know. It isn't a coincidence that the messages are left under your identity, with your voice."

Stan is quiet for a long minute. "Do you think it's -" He starts, and cannot finish. His voice is so low that even Ford can barely hear it, let alone the kids on the line.

"No. Maybe. I - don't know, Stanley," he admits, just as quiet. "But there's a possibility. We never did find Bill's remains after Weirdmageddon, did we? I always hypothesized that - as the realities separated, they could have been sent… elsewhere."

"Whaddya mean, Sixer?"

"Stanley, I don't think those messages are meant for us at all. In fact, they weren't meant for anyone within this reality. The walls between realities are still rebuilding from Weirdmageddon, and I think these clues are leaking through the points where the divisions are weak."

Stan hesitates. "Then who are they for?"

"I don't know," Ford admits. "But whoever they are, they have no idea what they're getting themselves into - and it is our duty to find them, _warn_ them before it's too late."

**Author's Note:**

> IDK WHAT I'M DOING


End file.
